


the good kind of overwhelming

by shera_sparkles



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Background Hunk/Shay, Drinking, Lance can't keep his mouth shut, M/M, Mutual Pining, also matt/allura but blink and you miss it, but keith doesn't know he's serious, if that makes you uncomfortable, keith pov, klance, they're a bit older so it's not underage drinking, they're both dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 23:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17497529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shera_sparkles/pseuds/shera_sparkles
Summary: Lance keeps getting drunk or really tired and confessing to Keith, but Keith doesn't take him seriously. Until it kind of turns into a whole mess and Keith can't take it anymore.Alternatively titled: 5 things Lance said at one a.m. and 1 thing he said in broad daylight





	the good kind of overwhelming

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am breaking into the world of Klance fics and 5+1 fics simultaneously
> 
> Hope you enjoy! The formatting might be weird but again, I don't really care
> 
> Trigger warning for drinking

**1.**

Keith throws an arm over his eyes, trying to will himself to fall asleep. His digital clock proclaims in angry red numbers that it’s already one in the morning, but he can’t make himself drift off. It’s starting to become a really obnoxious habit, especially considering how early he has to get up to meet Shiro at the gym. Maybe he can skip tomorrow…? Or rather,  _ today. _

 

He rolls over, grumbling to himself. If he could just stop thinking about… well, everything. His mind isn’t exactly a serene place these days. It’s kind of annoying. 

 

He’s about to try counting sheep again––that’s how desperate he is––when he hears his phone ring. 

 

Keith frowns, blindly reaching over the side of the bed, and plucks his phone off its charge cord. Lifting it up to his eyes, he squints.  _ Lance _ . Why on Earth is Lance calling him at this ungodly hour?    
  
But it’s better than nothing. Keith rubs his eyes blearily and answers the phone, making sure his volume is high enough to hear.

 

“ _ Keeeeeith!” _

 

Too high. Keith winces. “Lance? What’s going on?”   
  
“Keith, oh my God it’s Keith! Hi, Keith!” Lance’s voice exclaims happily through the phone.

 

“Yeah? It’s me. You called me,” Keith says, making himself sit up and fumble for the light switch. When he finds it, he has to close his eyes to keep them from burning at the sudden onslaught of brightness.

 

“Yeah! Yeah, I know! On my phone!”

 

“Lance,” Keith says seriously, opening his eyes. “Are you drunk?”

 

“Uhhh… maybe? I had like… some glasses of alcohol. Like. This many,” Lance says. Keith imagines him holding up way too many fingers on the other side of the phone and sighs.

 

“Where are you? Do you have a way to get home?” Keith asks.

 

“Oh yeahhh! Yeah, I’m fine!” Lance assures him. “'M with Hunk… 'n he’s around here somewhere… Listen. Keith.” Suddenly his voice sounds dead serious, but then he laughs, and yep, he’s definitely still drunk. 

 

“Look, Lance, maybe you should find Hunk and get home. You know it’s one in the morning?” Keith pleads. He’s starting to get worried––what if Lance is lying? What if he’s alone and has no way to get home? Or what if he tries to drive, what if he hurts himself?

 

“Yeah! Yeah, I know!” Lance says again. “But I don’t wan’ talk to Hunk. I wanna talk to you. I gotta tell you something.”

 

Keith is already getting out of bed. As soon as Lance hangs up, he’ll call Hunk and make sure he is both present and sober. “Lance, anything you want to tell me while you’re drunk probably isn’t something I want to hear,” he says, making his way into the kitchen to find his keys. Just in case.

 

“No, listen,” Lance says earnestly. He pauses. Then: “Are you listening?”   
  
Keith crosses to the pantry, kind of half paying attention, because suddenly he’s starving. “Yeah, I’m listening.”   
  
“Good. Keith,” says Lance, and then there’s a super long pause, like he’s trying to make himself sound serious. “Keith. I love you.”

 

Keith almost drops his phone into the cereal he’s pouring. 

 

He takes a deep breath. Keith is not prepared for affectionate-drunk Lance right now, okay? He is  _ supposed _ to be asleep. He makes himself laugh weakly. “Yeah, okay, Lance. You should––”

 

Lance sounds frustrated. “Nooo! No, Keith, you don’t understannnd! I mean–I mean I _ really _ love you. Like. I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you, Keith.”

 

And Keith––Keith needs to take a minute.

 

He sets the phone down and puts it on speaker, so he can rub his hands down his face, and suddenly he’s trying to wake himself up instead of drift off, because this is  _ not _ happening to him. “Okay,” he says finally. “Lance, you’re not thinking straight, okay? You’re really drunk, and you need to find Hunk––you’ll laugh about this tomorrow.”   
  
“ _ No _ ,” Lance insists, like the most important thing he can do tonight is make it clear he means it. “No, I won’t because it’s true. And you gotta––even if you don’t love me, you gotta know that I do. I love you. I love you.”

 

Keith clenches his fist, pushing the bowl of cereal away from him. Because––because he really wants to believe Lance. He really wants to be able to tell himself, yeah, Lance is in love with him, because that’s what he’s literally wanted for  _ so long _ , but… he knows Lance is drunk, and it’s not fair to expect him to be thinking clearly. Speaking clearly. So he knows that it can’t be true.

 

But this is important to Lance, in some twisted, drunk way, right now. 

 

“Thank you, Lance,” Keith says finally. “I understand.”

 

There’s a pause. Then Lance says, sounding a little disappointed, “You don’t feel the same way. Do you?”   
  


Keith can’t do it. He can’t lie to him. “Lance, go find Hunk,” he says, trying to sound as gentle as possible, and in the morning he’ll hope this really was all a dream. He’ll hope Lance had gotten so blackout drunk that he won’t remember that any of this ever happened, so they never have to talk about it, because he knows Lance would be mortified if he found out. Keith is taking this awkward encounter to his grave.

 

“Yeah. I’ll find Hunk. Bye, Keith,” says Lance, slow, melancholy. And then he hangs up.

 

Keith takes a minute to catch his breath, then immediately calls Hunk. When he picks up, thankfully sounding sober, Keith tells him Lance drunk-dialed him and he wants to make sure Hunk really is with him so he’ll get home safe. Hunk assures him he’s with Lance and not drinking, then says he’ll go find him, and Keith thanks him and hangs up. 

 

He takes a minute, leaning against his kitchen table, trying to make himself stop  _ thinking _ .

 

God. He’ll never get to sleep now.

  
  


**2.**

“Keith, wanna play?”

 

It’s been about a week since the drunk-dialing incident, which Lance seems to have no memory of, thank  _ God _ . He and Keith are at a party with Hunk, Pidge, and Allura, and they’ve all kind of split up, and it’s getting late, but Lance is having fun, so Keith is too.

 

Lance has spotted a game of flip-cup, which Nyma, Rolo, and a whole bunch of strangers are playing. The question isn’t really a question, because no, Keith doesn’t want to play, but Lance looks like he does and Keith would do anything for Lance. So they’re playing.

 

Keith’s cup has only water in it. He doesn’t drink, plus he’s the designated driver. But Lance is willing to indulge, like he always is at parties like this. 

 

Lance slings an arm around Keith’s shoulders and leans into him. Keith can smell his cologne. He tries not to think about it. “You know how to play, right, Keith?”

 

“Uh––yeah,” says Keith, trying to ignore Lance’s head tucked against his shoulder.

 

“Everyone has to drink the contents of their cup, then set it upside down on the edge of the table and flip it so it’s standing up,” Nyma explains. “The first team to get all the way down the table wins.”   
  
Keith looks over at Lance, who has grabbed the pitcher in the middle of the table and is pouring more into his cup.

 

“That’s a little full, Lance,” Keith says cautiously.

 

“Yup,” Lance says, popping the ‘p’. 

 

Keith sighs. So it’s a drunk Lance kind of night.

 

Keith, it turns out, is pretty good at flip-cup, most likely because he’s sober. He flips the cup right side up on his first try. Lance is having a much harder time of it, which makes sense considering how much alcohol he’s just consumed in less than thirty seconds, and the fact that his other arm is still slung tight around Keith’s shoulders.

 

Lance finally gets his cup right-side-up and the rest of the team cheers, because Lance is the second-to-last person in line and now they might have a chance of winning. Lance thrives off the praise, preening and flashing smiles, and then faceplants into Keith’s shoulder.

 

The last cup is flipped––the other side wins, unfortunately––and Keith wraps his arms around Lance, practically hauling him away from the table. “We should get you home?” he asks more than says. 

 

“Hmmm,” is all Lance says, and then, “let’s sit down.”   
  
“Are you––” Keith starts to ask, but then Lance stumbles forward, shoving them both down onto a bench. Keith shifts, trying to find a comfortable way to sit considering Lance is still on top of him. “Lance, sit up––”   
  
Lance whines and goes completely limp, making it impossible for Keith to move him. Keith feels his heart skip a beat. “You’re warm, though,” Lance says sleepily, and Keith should not have let him consume  _ that much alcohol _ in  _ that little time _ .

 

“Yeah, but. Yeah, okay,” Keith says, and he should stop this, maybe? But his brain is short-circuiting and it’s  _ fine _ , everything’s  _ fine. _

 

“You’re so nice,” Lance mumbles, and Keith almost doesn’t hear him. “You’re so sweet trying not to hurt my feelings. Tryna’ make sure I get home 'n stuff.”

 

“That’s what friends are for,” Keith says, uncertain, his arms tightening almost unconsciously around Lance.

 

“Yeah but I love you,” Lance says, still in that same mumble. Keith’s heart stops. There’s a long pause. Lance lifts his head, peering into Keith’s eyes with those deep blue ones. His mouth is pursed into a frown. “Didja hear me, Keith? I have––feelings for you––” he says listlessly, reaching up to tap Keith on the nose. Keith feels his face flush.

 

“I––I wish you wouldn’t say that,” Keith stammers finally, and Lance’s face falls.

 

“You said that last time,” he says softly, “you said not to last time. Sorry. Sorry, Keith…  _ sorry,  _ Keith…”

 

“It’s okay,” says Keith. He’s a little heartbroken at how sad Lance sounds––why does he sound so  _ sad? _ Keith never wants to be the person to make him this sad. And then he processes what Lance said before, and he says, “Wait. Last time?”   
  
“Yeah!” Lance says, perking up. He taps on Keith’s collarbone. “You r’member? Last time? I called you an’ you said––not to tell you I love you––cause you thought I didn’t mean it––oops, guess I said it again…” he giggles drunkenly.

 

Keith’s back goes rigid. “You  _ don’t _ mean it, Lance. You just… keep getting drunk and saying things you don’t mean.”

 

“I  _ mean it _ ,” Lance insists, burying his face in Keith’s chest, and then, “I mean it, I mean it…”

 

“Okay. Okay.” Keith tries to pretend he’s not panicking, and he drags himself to his feet, taking Lance with him. “Let’s get you to the car, Lance. I’ll round up the others.”

 

“I love how much you say my  _ name _ ,” Lance says giddily, hugging him tightly around the neck, as if he hadn’t heard a word he just said. “Lance. Lance. I like how you say it.”

 

Keith reaches up to stroke Lance’s hair back, from where it’s sticking to his neck, just so he’s more comfortable, of course. And he tries not to let his hand linger.

 

“Let’s go,” Keith says gently. “You have a night of vomiting ahead of you and I’d rather get a head start on it so I can get to sleep.”

 

Lance mutters something that sounds kind of like “you always take care of me, mullet,” and then falls quiet––so quiet that if Keith didn’t know better, he’d say Lance had fallen asleep.

  
  


**3.**

“Seven,” Pidge says, setting her card down on top of the pile. There’s a moment of tense silence. Keith stares at Pidge, whose gaze is unwavering, trying to detect any hint of deceit.

 

“Eight,” says Allura, adding her card, but Pidge still doesn’t betray anything. Keith frowns. It’s his turn. He doesn’t have any nines.

 

“Nine,” he says, setting down a seven. 

 

“Call it,” Lance says, pointing. Keith curses and turns over the card. Everyone cheers when Keith pulls the whole pile toward him.    
  
“How do you always do it?” Keith grumbles.

 

“You’re so obvious!” Lance says, shoving him. “Start it.”   
  
“Four,” says Keith, tossing one down. 

 

“Five,” says Lance, “and I’m out!” He lifts both hands, showing off that they’re empty.   
  
“That was  _ not _ a five,” Hunk says, shooting a look at Lance.

 

“Sure, but you can’t call the last card,” Lance reminds him triumphantly.

 

“I hate playing with Lance, he knows everyone’s tells,” Pidge complains. “Except mine. Because I’m better at this than all of you. By the way, not once did I play the card I was supposed to.” Pidge glances around the table smugly, and is greeted by responses ranging from complete lack of surprise to mild outrage.

 

Keith shoves her. She deserves it.

 

“I can always tell when someone’s lying,” Allura starts brightly, “because, well… I have pretty much the whole deck,” she admits.

 

Lance stands up from the table and stretches. “S’mores, anyone?”

 

“No, I should probably head home,” Hunk says, standing up also. “It’s getting late.”

 

“Early plans tomorrow?” asks Allura, taking a sip of her coffee.

 

Hunk blushes. “Yeah, I’m meeting Shay to study.”

 

“Aww!” Lance and Allura coo at the same time.

 

“Well, you’re my ride, so I guess I have to go too,” says Pidge. “Thanks for having us over,” she says to Lance. “Sorry about your living room.”

 

Lance yelps. “What did you do to my living room?”

 

Pidge’s eyes cross. “Wait. Maybe that wasn’t yours. Oh well.”

 

Pidge and Hunk say their goodbyes and then Pidge bolts out the door, Hunk following behind. 

 

“That’s probably my cue too,” Allura says, sharing a look with Lance. She reaches out to touch his shoulder. “Lovely time as always.”

 

“Thanks, 'Llura. See you,” says Lance, smiling fondly.

 

“Bye, Keith,” says Allura. She sends him a wink. Keith isn’t sure what it’s supposed to mean, but then she’s leaving, and now that he’s very nearly alone, Keith is realizing how tired he is. He sits back in his chair, closing his eyes, and hears Lance walk over and sit down. 

 

“Are you, like––if you’re too tired to drive then…” Lance starts, then trails off. Keith opens his eyes to look at him. Lance looks awkward, gaze flickering up to meet Keith’s.

 

“Hmm?” asks Keith. It was a really long day… he went to the gym with Shiro like always, and then he spent most of the day studying and now he’s been around people for the last few hours and he just…

 

“You could stay over. If you want,” Lance finishes softly. He searches Keith’s eyes. “I don’t have a guest room but I could. Sleep on the couch or something. If you want,” he says again.

 

“Thanks,” says Keith, and then he’s reaching out to touch Lance’s shoulder, just like Allura did. Lance looks down at his hand. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

 

They stay up for a couple more hours, just talking, curled up on the sofa. Lance keeps laughing whenever Keith says something sarcastic, and Keith likes hearing his laugh, and he’s exhausted but he doesn’t want to go to sleep because he wants to keep hearing Lance laugh like that because of whatever it is Keith said…

 

Around one in the morning they finally head into Lance’s room and they both collapse on the bed. Maybe it would’ve been awkward two hours ago, but now Keith is so exhausted that he doesn’t even think about it. It just feels right.

 

“Keith,” says Lance fondly, reaching out to touch his hair right above his ear, but he doesn’t say anything else, just his name.

 

“Lance,” Keith says back, but he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe… 

 

“I love hanging out with you,” Lance says sleepily, watching where his hand is still playing with Keith’s hair. “You have such pretty eyes…”

 

Keith knows his face is so red, and God, Lance isn’t even drunk but he’s the delirious kind of sleepy and he’s still literally existing to make Keith’s life  _ impossible _ . “Lance, I…”

 

Lance makes a happy sound and shifts closer. “I like when you say my name.”   
  
Keith squeezes his eyes shut. It’s so close to what Lance said before at that party, and he can’t deal with this. He can’t deal with Lance when he’s like this. “Good night, Lance,” he whispers.

 

“Good night…”

 

Keith tries to fall asleep. Really tries. But he’s never been very good at that in the first place.

  
  


**4.**

“Yeah, okay. Yeah… all right. Call me later. Uh-huh––oh. She hung up.” Lance drops the phone on the table emotionlessly and sighs, sinking down in his chair. Keith watches anxiously from the sofa.

 

“You okay, man?” he asks cautiously. It’s late at night, and they had been watching a movie when Lance got a phone call. His voice had gone suspiciously flat within seconds of answering. Keith had paused the movie, watching him instead, concerned.

 

Lance sinks lower in his chair and groans. “I’m fine. It’s whatever. Wanna get coffee?” Suddenly he’s alive again, and Keith knows that voice and knows it’s  _ dangerous _ , but he knows he’ll do whatever Lance wants, too. 

 

“Uh. Sure,” says Keith, even though it’s  _ one in the morning _ and this is a little ridiculous, and he gets to his feet, stretching out his legs. “Where did you want to––”   
  
“That one café. On Sixteenth,” says Lance, already shrugging into his jacket. “It’s open all hours. You’d be surprised by the traffic it gets this early.”

 

“Fine, just let me get my wal––”

 

“I’ll pay. Come on.” He’s practically out the door.

 

Lance drives, but only because he got to his car first, and Keith feels it’s better to follow right now, considering Lance’s restlessness.    
  
“Yeah, let’s––I don’t see any parking spots, let’s just––we’ll go around one more time,” Lance is saying, and his tone is bright but he’s changed directions three times in that sentence alone, and Keith isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to let this go on. And it’s so late, come  _ on _ , how are all the spots full? This place needs a better parking situation.

 

Lance drives around the café one more time and makes a frustrated sound when he can’t find a free spot, so he growls and floors the gas, pulling into the Wendy’s across the street. He practically slams into the parking space and fumbles with the keys, taking them out of the ignition. He undoes his seatbelt but makes no move to get out of the car.

 

Keith waits for a minute, then starts in a soft voice, “Hey––”

 

“I just––” Lance slams his hand on the steering wheel, once, then moves his chair back, as if he’s afraid he’s going to break something. He turns fully in his chair to face Keith. “You know when––things happen and you…”

 

“Lance,” says Keith, reaching out, but he doesn’t touch him, doesn’t want to spook him. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”   
  
Lance makes a defeated noise and scrubs a hand through his hair, like he doesn’t know where to start. “My mom just called,” he says finally, “and she wants me to do this thing with the family and my cousins? My super homophobic cousins, and I hate spending time with them because they always make everything about them––but, you know, it’s  _ familia _ , and my mom really wants us all to get along, but I just––if I have to sit through another stupid awkward conversation with them, I swear––you’d think she’d just listen to me when I say I don’t want to go, y’know? But I––ugh. And they don’t know I’m bi, I’ve never come out to them because it wouldn’t be safe, but they  _ know _ , y’know? Like, they know I don’t agree with them and I…” he trails off awkwardly. “It just makes me so  _ mad _ .”

 

Keith doesn’t know what to say, so he lets his hand fall on Lance’s forearm. It’s weird because they’re in a car, and Keith can feel the seat belt digging into his shoulder, but he just really needs Lance to know that he’s  _ there _ for him, and that he hates seeing him like this…

 

Lance is looking down at Keith’s hand on his arm like it’s something foreign, and Keith lets his hand go loose, ready to pull it away if he has to.

 

Instead, Lance reaches over and takes Keith hand, lifting it to hold against his cheek. He looks up, his eyes boring into Keith’s. Keith’s heart flutters. He presses his hand into Lance’s cheek, drowning in the touch.

 

It’s dark. He can’t fully see Lance’s face, and this is all a little too much. 

 

“I just…” Lance frowns, holding Keith’s hand in place with both of his own hands. “I wish I could take you with me.” 

 

Keith’s eyes widen, but only marginally. He’s kind of used to Lance saying things like that by now.

 

Lance notices the slight shift. “Or Hunk,” he says, tightening his grip, “or, you know. Just someone I feel safe with.”   
  
“Your siblings will be there, right?” asks Keith, rubbing his thumb into Lance’s cheek, which is a little much, maybe, but this is unfamiliar territory, okay, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing.

 

“Yeah, but, you know.” Lance keeps saying that,  _ you know _ , keeps putting this little wall up to try and sound more rational. “Veronica will bring Acxa, and Luis will bring Lisa, and I’m sure Rachel will have someone with her––” he rolls his eyes a little–– “and Marco doesn’t care. I mean, he’s, like, immune to them. I just wish…” he trails off again, still staring into Keith’s eyes, like if he looks away he’ll get lost. 

 

“I’m sorry,” says Keith, letting his hand drag down. Lance closes his eyes at the loss, then blinks them open. “I mean, I’m not––my family isn’t. You know. Around. So I haven’t had to deal with that. So I can’t guess what it’s like, and… I’m sorry I can’t be there to help at all.”   
  


Lance smiles a little. “It’s whatever, Keith. And geez, at least I have a family, right? Sorry, man, I shouldn’t be complaining when––”   
  
“No,” Keith says firmly. “You still have a right to feel things even if other people are dealing with things that might be worse.” He feels his face get hot, because he  _ knows _ that didn’t come out very well. He’s never been good with words.

 

Lance looks down, unhappy, and then back up at Keith’s face. “It’s fine. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I mean, I feel a little better.” He smiles, and it’s a real one. “Thank you.”   
  
“Anytime,” Keith says seriously.

 

Lance watches him, and his face twists into something unrecognizable. “Keith. Can I say…” he stops himself then, shaking out of something. “Let’s go in,” he says, and he sounds normal again, back to his chipper self.

 

“Yeah, okay,” says Keith, feeling as if something has changed, but he doesn’t know what.

 

The café is officially stupid because how could there possibly be so many people in line to get one-in-the-morning coffee? But it’s fine; they end up getting frosties at Wendy’s instead. 

 

And Keith knows that Lance loves those, so. 

  
  


“I am going to eat an entire pizza,” Pidge announces, flopping back on the couch. “How long ago did we order?”   
  
“Four minutes,” says Hunk, leaning over the back of the couch. Pidge groans.

 

“Impatient,” teases Keith, poking her.

 

She glares at him. “I said I was hungry two hours ago. And then we spent those two hours getting distracted and not agreeing on what to get. Yes, I am a  _ little bit grumpy _ .”

 

Lance huffs. “I just wanted to make sure everyone was happy with what we got––”   
  
“My stomach is unhappy! Because I wanted to be eating hours ago,” grumbles Pidge. Keith laughs to himself. It’s times like these he cherishes––getting to just hang out and spend time with the group.

 

Preferably with the sober version of Lance, seeing as Keith kind of can’t deal when he isn’t, especially lately. 

 

“Keith?” 

 

Keith looks up and realizes Lance was addressing him. “Oh. Yeah?”

 

Lance watches him expectantly. “Shiro? Is he on his way?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” says Keith, snapping out of it. “He’s dropping Adam off at improv.”   
  
“Yeah, that reminds me–– _ why _ is Adam doing an improv class?” asks Hunk, raising an eyebrow.

 

Keith lifts one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “Beats me. Wanted to broaden his horizons? Shiro thought it was a good idea when Adam came up with it.”

 

“Matt just texted me that he and Allura are almost here,” says Pidge, glancing up from her phone.

 

Lance rubs his hands together. “Perfect. They’re all late enough that we can justify picking a movie ourselves.”

 

Pidge laughs, sitting up. “It took us two hours to decide to get pizza––not toppings or anything, just  _ the fact that we wanted pizza _ ––and you expect us to choose a movie in, like, ten minutes?”

 

“No,” Lance says, holding up his disk of choice. “I expect you to listen to my nine and a half minute oral presentation and be so beguiled you can’t help but agree with me.”   
  
Pidge frowns. “I don’t think––”   
  
“Let the man speak,” says Hunk, walking around the couch to sit next to Pidge, as if he’d just been waiting for her to stop taking up the whole thing. 

 

“Lance, are you going to try and get us to watch  _ The Game Plan _ again?” Keith asks, skeptical.

 

Lance bristles. “It’s a good movie! The emotional depth and uniquity of the message is rivaled only by the spectacular performances by each of the actors, who carry the strong clarity of the compelling three-act structure––”

 

_ “Lance,” _ groans Pidge. “We watched this last Saturday!”   
  
“I think he’s onto something,” says Hunk, holding up one hand solemnly. “Not for nothing, but  _ The Game Plan _ is a cinematic masterpiece.”   
  
“It doesn’t matter,” points out Keith. “Matt is going to get here before we make a decision and steamroll all of us, and we’re going to end up watching John Mulaney clips on YouTube.”

 

Lance gapes at him. “Break the system, Keith, don’t go with it! And you can start by siding with me on  _ The Game Plan _ .”

 

“No,” Keith says flatly. Lance pouts. “Can’t I choose the movie for once?”   
  
“I think that’s also a good idea,” Hunk concedes. “Keith never gets to pick.”   
  
“That’s because he probably only watches alien documentaries,” Lance complains. “Or something weird, like he’s gonna say  _ Harold and the Purple Crayon _ .”   
  
Keith shoots him a look, confused. “I was going to suggest  _ Wall-E _ .”

 

Everyone goes a little quiet. Then Pidge says, “Not what I was expecting from Keith. But I can get on board.”   
  
“ _ Wall-E _ sounds good,” says Hunk.

  
Keith looks over at Lance, whom he expects to fight back, but Lance is just watching him with this kind of fond little smile on his face. Keith looks away. He hates it when Lance makes that face––what even is that?

 

Matt opens the door, which was unlocked, and steps into the apartment, followed by Allura. “Hey guys, did you set up John Mulaney?”   
  
Allura swats his arm. “We can’t  _ always _ watch John Mulaney, Matt.”   
  
Matt looks at her seriously. “Yes. We can, and we will.”

 

“Hey, guys,” says Hunk, greeting them happily.

 

“Did you get food?” asks Allura, hanging up her coat as she enters the room. 

 

“We ordered pizza,” says Keith.

 

Allura gets a glint in her eye. “Yum. And the movie?”

 

“ _ Wall-E _ ,” announces Lance, finally shifting his gaze over to her. 

 

“Yes!” shouts Pidge, punching the air. “Breaking the cycle.”

 

“To Amazon!” Lance cries, tossing the remote to Pidge, as he settles on the floor next to Keith. His arm is pressed up against Keith’s shoulder, and, okay, for the millionth time, that’s a little much, Lance. Because it’s kind of making it hard for Keith to move. 

 

And also breathe regularly.

 

Shiro arrives later, and so does the pizza, and then they all sit down and start the movie, but even though Keith chose this one, he can’t focus. Lance keeps making comments, either sarcastic ones pointing out plotholes or just about how good the movie is, and sometimes it’s to the whole group, but sometimes he leans over and says things just to Keith. 

 

Which would be fine. But with the couple of weeks he’s had… and with all those  _ things _ Lance keeps saying, the way he acts around Keith, he can’t be imagining it… it’s all just a little bit too…  _ much _ . Suddenly everything is too much, and he feels a sudden truth come crashing down around him, and he has the urge to bolt.

 

It’s getting late. It was already late when they started the movie, it had been almost midnight, and Keith is exhausted, and he tells himself that’s why he gets up and mutters, “I’ll be right back,” and slips outside while everyone keeps watching. 

 

It’s not quite that he’s  _ tired _ . He could probably stay awake for hours. But he’s emotionally exhausted––like, he needs a break. 

 

From Lance.

 

Keith walks away from the house, kicking at the small stones lining Pidge’s driveway. It’s chilly out, and he’s not wearing his coat, but that’s good. He needs to feel the cool air on his skin. 

 

“Hey. Keith.”   
  
Keith stiffens, because he recognizes the voice, how could he  _ not _ , and sure enough, he turns around to see that Lance has followed him outside. He’s standing just in front of the closed door, arms crossed. Lance  _ is _ wearing his coat, the puffy blue one, and it looks good on him, like everything does.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and though he doesn’t sound  _ concerned _ , exactly, he is watching Keith carefully. And Keith doesn’t want to talk about it.

 

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, taking a step further down the driveway.

 

“Okay, well, clearly something is,” says Lance, following him. He comes to stand a few feet in front of Keith and stops, eyebrows drawing together in worry. “You’ve been acting weird lately––around me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Did I…” he swallows. “Did I do something wrong?”

 

Keith squeezes his eyes shut and sighs, then opens them again. “Look, Lance, no, you didn’t do anything,” he says, and then falters. How is he going to explain this. “The last couple of weeks, it’s just been… a little much.” He hates that he doesn’t have better words, that that’s the only way he can think to explain it. “I need some time alone.”   
  
For a second, Lance looks like he’s been punched. Then his face twists into this look of pure defensive anger. “So I  _ did _ do something wrong.”

 

“What? No, I meant––”   
  


“No, I get it.” Lance stops him, and his tone is biting. “Well I’m sorry if I’ve been so  _ overwhelming. _ Just tell me next time I’m being  _ a little much _ and I’ll back off.”   
  
“Lance, I’m not saying––” Keith huffs. “Look, it’s hard for me to talk about––”   
  
“I get it,” says Lance again, making it very clear that he  _ doesn’t get it _ . “I’ll back off. Hint taken.”

 

Keith makes a frustrated noise, attacking his hair with one hand. “Lance, do you even know what I’m talking about?”   
  
“Okay, I know I’m loud, and I have a lot of opinions, and maybe I’m not always good at personal space, but I’ve gotten better at figuring out your comfort zone, and I can always––”

 

“ _ Lance.” _ Keith stops him, holding up one hand, because now he just  _ desperately _ needs for Lance to understand. “I’m not talking about that. I don’t  _ care _ about that.”   
  
Lance is getting frustrated too, and he practically shouts, “Then what could you  _ possibly _ be talking about?”   
  
“I’m talking about two weeks ago!” Keith shouts back, “When you got drunk and called me to tell me you loved me! Or a week after that, when we went to that party and you got drunk again and practically draped yourself over me the whole time. Or when I slept over at your house and you were almost  _ delirious _ and kept––saying things or when––or any of the  _ million _ other times you haven’t been yourself for whatever reason at freaking  _ one in the morning _ and started saying things I just can’t handle anymore, Lance!”

 

If Lance looked hurt before, that’s nothing to how stunned he looks now. His arms drop to his sides, and Keith hears his own last words ringing in his ears, because he knows they sounded cruel. 

 

Lance still can’t possibly understand why it bothers him.

  
“Lance,” he pants out, trying to catch his breath after all of… that. 

 

“I’m sorry,” says Lance, and his voice is so small, and Keith’s heart stops beating. “I didn’t––I didn’t know––” He can’t get out any more, and Keith thinks he’s holding back a sob––scratch that, he  _ knows _ , because he can see the tears brimming in Lance’s eyes. Lance wipes them away angrily.

 

“No, Lance,” Keith says desperately, trying to get it all out, “you still don’t understand. I can’t handle it,” he says again, trying to get his train of thought back, “I can’t handle it because I––”

 

“I understand! I understand!” Lance blurts out, still  _ so loud _ . “I shouldn’t have––well, whatever, actually, Keith!” The anger is back full-force, a cold white fury that’s even worse than the passive-aggressive temper from before. “Whatever,” he spits, “because that’s not fair. And actually, I…  _ ugh!” _ He rubs his hands against his eyes, clearly struggling, not getting the words out that he wants, and Keith feels his heart sink.    
  
“Lance, I––”   
  
“Shut up!” Lance yells. “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t––just––I’m gonna go. And you’re gonna leave me alone,” he says, lowering his voice again so that it’s sincere and dark. Lance steps back, then shakes his head, his face red with anger and embarrassment. He scoffs. “Enjoy your movie, Keith.”   
  
Then he’s gone. And Keith hasn’t said anything to fix it.

  
He hates this. 

 

What just  _ happened? _

 

And how can he possibly get Lance back?

  
  


**+1.**

“What’s up with you?” asks Shiro suspiciously, he and Adam both sending Keith appraising looks from their side of the coffee table. “You’ve been weird for weeks now.”

 

“Miserable,” clarifies Adam. “It’s not a fun look for you.”

 

Keith glares at them both. “I’m fine.”

 

“You’re not fine,” Shiro and Adam say at the same time. 

 

Keith grips his coffee, glaring down at it with enough intensity that he feels like it might explode. “Look. Just leave me alone, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”   
  
“Fine. Then don’t talk,” says Shiro, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ll do all the talking and all you have to do is listen. Okay?”   
  
“You can’t say that and then ask a question,” Adam points out, nudging him. “It’s like in improv.”

 

“Yes, I see the flaw in that now,” Shiro says, rolling his eyes fondly. “Also, stop talking about improv. Now, Keith––I know this is about Lance, and––”   
  
“It’s not about Lance,” Keith insists, tightening his grip on the coffee cup in front of him. He avoids meeting Shiro’s eyes.

 

“You haven’t talked to him in weeks,” Shiro continues, as if Keith hadn’t spoken. “You guys used to hang out all the time, and, well, we’re getting worried. Look, whatever happened between you, I think you need to––”   
  
“Nothing happened!” Keith bursts out, jerking his arm and almost spilling his coffee. “God, just leave me alone!”

 

Immediately after he says it, he regrets it, but he doesn’t take it back, electing to stare sullenly at the table instead. He feels angry tears pricking in the back of his eyes and prays they don’t show. He hasn’t cried in front of Shiro––in front of anyone––for a very long time.

 

“Keith, come on,” says Adam, not unkindly, but there’s a warning in his tone.  _ You don’t mean that _ , it says. 

 

Keith glances up, and Shiro doesn’t look that hurt, but his mouth is set in a firm line. He’s used to this kind of thing from Keith, although he’s generally disappointed whenever he sees it. 

 

“You can talk to me when you’re ready,” says Shiro with finality, and Keith knows he won’t press anymore. Shiro places his hand on the table, next to Keith’s, in a comforting gesture, without actually touching him. He’s so respectful of Keith, always looking out for him even when Keith doesn’t deserve it. Keith suddenly feels guilty, even though he knows that wasn’t Shiro’s intention.

 

“Wait,” says Keith, as Shiro moves to leave.   
  
“Ready to talk so soon?” Shiro asks, the corner of his mouth tilting up. Keith nods.

 

“I just…” Keith frowns down at his cup, wrapping both hands around it to chase the warmth. “Lance kept acting weird, getting drunk or whatever and being super affectionate, and it was… overwhelming. And I told him that, and he got mad.” He winces at the memory. Everything had been taken so out of proportion; Lance so clearly hadn’t understood what he was saying. 

 

“I see,” says Shiro, nodding sagely. “You need to talk to him.”   
  
Keith looks up, betrayed. “You would’ve said that no matter what I told you had happened!”

 

“It’s true, though,” Adam pipes up. 

 

Keith sinks down in his seat. He knows they’re both right. But he just… “What if he doesn’t want to talk to me?” he asks, too quiet. He hates getting like this; asking for advice, for validation. But he really is miserable, and he needs it desperately.

 

“He’ll listen,” Shiro assures him. “I know for a fact Lance is just as upset over this as you are.”

  
  


Keith’s hand has been raised in front of the door, poised to knock, for almost a full minute now. 

 

He can do this.

 

Keith takes a deep breath and raps three times on the door.

 

A few minutes later, the door to Lance’s apartment opens, and Keith stands there, suddenly forgetting everything he was going to say. 

  
When he sees him, Lance’s face goes from surprised to this kind of resigned look, and he opens the door wider, saying, “Come in.”

 

“Uh––thanks,” says Keith, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He was expecting more anger after how Lance had acted last time they saw each other. Lance takes a seat at the table, and Keith sits across from him. Keith takes another deep breath and says, “Listen, Lance, I’m sorry––”

 

“No,  _ I’m _ sorry,” says Lance, leaning back in his chair. “I behaved… kind of awfully. I really overreacted, and I’m sorry if I upset you.” Keith tries to cut him off, to explain all the reasons this is  _ his _ fault––or at least why he’s confused, but Lance just keeps talking. “And mostly I’m sorry for before then––if I made you uncomfortable. For whatever reason. Because of, you know, my feelings. I shouldn’t have let that get in the way of anything, and I didn’t realize I…” he frowns, faltering a little. “I mean, I don’t remember whatever you’re talking about, but I’m sorry if I was… intense.”

 

Keith’s mouth snaps open, then shut again. “What?”   
  
Lance looks embarrassed, kicking at the legs of the table. “Please don’t make me say it again…”   
  
“Your feelings? What feelings?” Keith leans forward on his elbows, and he’s a little desperate, because suddenly he feels a fragment of hope.

 

Lance freezes, staring at him. “Uh––” He flounders, clearly confused. “You––I thought it was pretty clear. I mean, I thought that’s why you were mad at me.”

 

“Lance,” says Keith firmly. “What feelings?”   
  
His eyebrows knit together, and he looks almost hurt. “Isn’t it kind of obvious?”   
  
And yeah,  _ now _ it is, but Keith  _ needs _ to hear Lance say it. Needs to know for sure. “Explain it to me like I’m stupid.”

 

Lance still has that hurt look on his face, but a new expression passes over it, and maybe he’s starting to understand. Either way, he huffs out a sigh, and then he says the words Keith has been waiting to here since forever: “I like you, Keith. And I have for a while, and clearly I came on too strong, and I wish I could remember it so I could apologize better but I don’t. I don’t know what happened, but I––”   
  
“Stop talking,” Keith says urgently. “You have  _ nothing _ to apologize for.”   
  
Lance is getting exasperated. “But you just said––”   
  
“ _ Lance _ ,” Keith presses, because he’s not  _ good _ at this, he never knows what to say–– “I like you too.”   
  


Lance’s mouth flops open. He just stares at Keith for a minute. Then, slowly, he stands up.“You what?”

 

“I like you too,” Keith says again, nervous this time, because he doesn’t think he’s got this wrong, but… maybe he does.

 

A grin is spreading over Lance’s face. “You what?”   
  
“Stop it,” says Keith, but he’s fighting back the smile that’s threatening to show on his face, too.

 

Lance comes around the table and holds out his hand, like he’s going to hold Keith’s, but then he drops it. “So, what, uh… what now?”   
  
Keith studies his face; the expression that’s half embarrassment and half excitement; and this is the moment he’s been waiting for forever. He catches Lance’s hands, pulling him back towards him, and says, “Now I’m going to kiss you.”

 

Lance _ squeaks _ , and Keith’s sly grin widens. “Uh, okay,” he says, his face turning red, and Keith leans forward.

 

And it’s only the good kind of overwhelming.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! My tumblr is @shera-sparkles. 
> 
> ;) Have a great day!


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